Bebop Drabbles
by empty gun
Summary: Same deal as my Bleach drabbles; I post 'em as I find 'em.
1. Ein

Ein licked his lips and sniffed the bowl again. It was empty. He knew there was nothing in it, but he sniffed it another time and nudged it with his nose with a loud whine.

It would do no good because there was nothing left, in the bowl or the fridge or in the can on the cabinet. But he hoped the leg belonging to the nearest person, which was Faye, would get a bit of a hint. After all, it was her fault there was only a half a can of dog food left.

Desperate times, desperate measures. Faye was more like an animal than she cared to admit, fending for herself and doing what was necessary to survive. When the people food was gone, she turned to his food.

Ein whined again.

Faye shifted her legs and stared at chessboard in front of her, Jet on the other side, taking his time to make a move. They were waiting for Spike to come back with provisions and there was a fabulous row earlier before they decided to do something to engage their brains. Take their mind off their stomachs.

"That's ours!" yelled Faye, different from now, five minutes ago, her eyes ablaze with animal lust, staring at the half empty dog food can in Jet's hand.

"Keep yourself in line!" Jet yelled back. He'd found the can in the back of the fridge, where Faye was hiding it. Knowing Ein had gone longer than any of them without food, he spooned it into his dish.

Calmed down now, elbow on table, face in hand, Faye was silent, Ein knew, thinking about that last can of dogfood and how careful she had been, _how careful_.

Ein whined again, hoping to encite some guilt from her, maybe an apology, a confession. It was stupid, of course, but stranger things had happened.

Jet made his move and Faye's face slipped down her arm with a loud groan and she almost upset the board. With her arm no longer blocking the view, Ein saw the table. Jet had left himself wide open and Jet was usually so good at this. Probably distracted, just like Faye.

In fact, Faye had a sure move in her hands. The more Ein studied it, the more brilliant, yet simple it seemed. Just a little slip and she'd win. But no, she was no propped on the back of her hands, staring through pieces of hair at the board. Hungry, lost.

It would be so easy now to jump onto the table, nudge the piece with his nose and win the game. Not for Faye's sake, he was decidedly not on her side. But because it was driving him mad, that move just glaring, everyone ignoring the obvious.

That happened quite a lot.

He whined again and Faye rolled one green eye towards the bowl and back at the game. Not a speck of remorse on her face. Her breath still probably stunk. What a beast.

Ein turned around three times and lied down next to Jet's feet and closed his eyes, to keep his mind off everything.

He could so easily just jump on the table and make that move, but someone had to have class around here.

And it sure as hell wasn't going to be Faye.

What a human.


	2. Bacon

"We don't have any meat," said Jet, in a low growl. "If we had meat, we might be eating better things noodles and sauce."

"I just asked," said Spike, as he rolled the pasta around and around on his fork, "What is spaghetti without meat?"

"It's what we eat when we don't have money."

There was a sudden clatter and Spike dropped his fork, spaghetti clinging to it. "Dammit, Jet," he sighed.

Jet was busy cutting his spaghetti into small pieces. The pieces only got smaller as he gritted his teeth and said, "I don't see what the big deal is." He looked up and met Spike's eyes. "If you don't like it, don't eat it."

"Do you know," said Spike, leaning forward, "so many years ago, there was this robot that identified food. Someone stuck their hand in it and it told them they tasted like bacon. Apparently, we taste like bacon, Jet."

Jet only nodded, mouth full of spaghetti.

"Get a few eggs ... some "bacon" and we have ourselves Carbonara."

Jet swallowed and watched Spike smile, shove pasta in his mouth.

"When Faye and Ed get back, I'm telling them to lock their rooms from the inside," Jet muttered to himself.


	3. Regret It

They don't talk for a while after they make love for the first time. Not because words won't come. To Spike, there is a world of words constructed on his tongue and all of them say the same thing, have the same meaning: _this was wrong, but I don't regret it_. He can feel in Julia's movements next to him, her reluctance to move closer, but their hips touch as they lie next to each other. The silence isn't awkward, just painful and both of them are breathing heavily, so words aren't needed now. Spike takes a close look at her face in profile against the streetlights and closes his eyes, seeing her face distorted behind his eyelids for a second before it fades. He can't imagine what this is the start of, something good, bad, something both at the same time.

Even though he already knew this, since it's a good way to figure out your opponent's next move in a fight and weed out liars, he read years ago that body language speaks louder than words. Things like palms up mean being open, hands together, arms crossed means closed. What does it mean, when he opens his eyes and looks next to him, when she's lying on her back, hands itching to get close to him again?

He knows that's what the gesture means, when she sits up and reaches over for a second. Hand pauses and she uses it to scratch her arm, bed sheets clinging to her breasts.

She opens her mouth but the only word that comes out is his name.

"Yeah," he says, not answering her, not asking. What he says is an agreement to her movements and feelings, which say what he wants to say: _this was wrong, what did we do._

Their eyes meet, lit only by the light from the windows and Julia gives him one of those slow, tiny smiles of hers. _I don't regret it. _


End file.
